Lucidity
by Serra-Of-Many-Names
Summary: Walter is deathly ill. Seras comes to visit him, but he wishes he could be there... (WxS)
1. Straining

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing and I hate everything. No profit is being made from this story except the mild ego-stroking that comes from reviews. Amen.

Thank you to TeaRoses for beta work.

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It was like hell, Walter thought drowsily as he lay in the hospital wing... probably motionless, but he couldn't tell anymore. The heat, the consuming inferno in his head, was more than enough punishment for every sin he had ever committed.

He was just lucid enough to realize he was delirious; he couldn't tell if he was awake or dreaming anymore, and both things were so similar he didn't care. The days blurred into each other when one had no way of telling time, and he had no idea whether it had been ten minutes or ten years since the last time he woke. The blackness before his eyes was almost a constant--he had no strength to open his eyes most of the time, and when he could the light gave him such a splitting headache he had to close them again and beg, without words, for morphine. But there were... flashbacks, in between the nightmares.

Some were actually plausible, probably having occurred in his periods of wakefulness; moving his arm and finding an IV bag attached to it, hearing Integra speaking to him and being able only to groan in response, Alucard shouting at one of the doctors about some aspect of his treatment. But Seras Victoria's shy red eyes, her soft encouragement in his ear, her lips on his cheek most of all, these he had to dismiss as fantasies.

In the part of his mind that still responded, however vaguely, to reality, he felt the now-warm washcloth on his forehead replaced, the cool dampness easing his fever just enough to allow him to think more clearly. Despite this, he didn't wonder who was tending to him--he couldn't afford to waste mental energy on that. He simply lay still, not that he could have moved, and thought how good it felt.

A soft hand rested on his cheek briefly, stroking away the sweat and some of the barrier between himself and reality. For just a moment he saw her face, though he was not conscious of opening his eyes, and heard her soft voice-- "Hold on, Walter. For me."

There was a faint pressure, on his lips this time, and he tried to meet it just a little, something to prove he was still there. No sooner had he barely succeeded, however, than she was gone again, and everything was dark.


	2. Reflexes

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1.

To my one (non-requested) reviewer: this one's for you, dear.

* * *

He always looked the same when she came to see him; pale and motionless, almost dead. He was completely unresponsive to her except to groan a bit and flicker his eyelids when he was spoken to, and that could mean anything. If she touched him he would move, sometimes... but that was probably reflexes.

Was Walter conscious at all, under his closed eyelids? And if he was, did he get lonely, locked in his own body with no one near him for hours on end? What did he think when she came to him? Did he even know it was her? Did he care either way?

"I wish you could answer me," she said aloud, and wasn't surprised when he didn't respond at all. At this hour it was unlikely he'd even heard her. With a soft sigh, she pulled a chair to his bedside and sat down, replacing the washcloth on his forehead with the fresh one she'd been carrying. _Why do I bother to tend to him? Maybe I am being pathetic, the way my Master says._

"I know you probably can't hear me now, Walter. I know you're most likely going to die whether I'm here or not, and I know what my Master thinks about me spending so much time in here. But I--" She paused to collect herself and wipe tears from her eyes. Crying would be more pathetic still. "I can't lose you. You're the only friend I have at Hellsing--the only person who doesn't treat me like some lost kitten, anyway--and if you die I'll be... all alone... Oh, Walter!"

Infuriating silence, broken only by Walter's labored breathing. Fighting down tears, Seras composed herself again. "All I want is one word from your lips... one word to prove I'm not pouring my heart out to a dead man. Would you do that for me if you could, Walter?"

His eyelids had lifted just a bit; the slightest motion, but it meant all the world to Seras. She laid a hand against his cheek, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on his face. "You're not dead, Walter." Gently, she bent her head down to his shoulder, her lips beside his ear, and whispered, "Hold on, Walter... for me."

She didn't notice her hand had made its way to his mouth until she felt his lips move softly underneath it... trying to kiss her fingers...

Reflexes.

With a frustrated grunt, she stood and left.


End file.
